Gihren, Gihren
by Marching Madly Onward
Summary: A look into Gihren Zabi's mind during the Battle of A Baoa Que


**Author's rambling**: A bit of inspiration struck me out of the blue to type up a brief Gihren-centric fic while working on another piece never saw the light of day, as is the case with most of the stuff I write. It's short and not terribly ground-breaking, given kishiria's numerous fics dealing with the Zabi brood in a more humane light but I felt like writing it anyway. You might also want to keep in mind that I paraphrased some lines for this story but the important part isn't the dialogue; it's Gihren's internal musings, both terrible yet human (at least, that's how I hope to come across). As I've implied, this was written on a whim, so it may not be my best work. I'm somewhat concerned that I won't be able to pull off a convincing Gihren monologue due to the inherent nature of his character. Oh well, I'll give it my best shot.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Mobile Suit Gundam, which is property of Sunrise/Bandai.

Gihren, Gihren

In the not-so-distant reaches of space, roses of fire blossom to life as if to verify the existence of a mobile suit pilot or the presence of a war machine for a few, brief moments before the strangling void of space cuts their final adieu short. Each flare, each spark, every gust of flame fills me with a sense of wonder. I do my best to envision who caused those brilliant lights to flash and what was the result. Did that beam rifle tear through one of the Federation's GMs or did one of our own Zakus fall in battle? Was that explosion really as horrific as it appeared from my vantage point within this hunk of rock or was it but a minor combustion?

It is all irrelevant. There is no use pouring over the fate of so many soldiers. The outcome of this battle has already been decided. The Solar Ray has cut a bloody swath through the Federation's once-great fleet, leaving them shattered and demoralized. The soldiers of Zeon have been inflamed with malice at the fall of Solomon and imbued with the fighting spirit thanks to my great oratory performance. It is only a matter of time before the likes of the mighty Gelgoog overwhelm the GM and that pathetic Ball. Even so, my soul grows restless; my nerves fray; my breath comes quickly.

She is speaking, that woman who shares my lineage. It barely registers within my mind, yet the essence of her comment reaches me.

"What has happened to the _Great Degwin_?" She asks so severely, as if there I will flinch. She knows what has happened. She knows! Yet she persists in this charade. If she knows and I know, then I shall entertain her.

"It seems the _Great Degwin_ was destroyed." I can't help but smile. The deed itself fills me with no joy but the knowledge that she plays innocent to the truth amuses me so. "There is no sign of our father."

The rage and hurt in her eyes flashes more brilliantly than any of those explosions ever could. Some part of me revels in this, another is repulsed.

How dare she gaze upon me with such contempt! Had the fate of Zeon been left in her hands, the Federation surely would have triumphed long ago. She would have squandered untold resources, manpower, and that oh-so-precious time on her Newtype pets and special units. I am fighting a war. She plays with her psycommu systems and whatnot.

It is bad enough she thinks that she could do better as the supreme leader of Zeon, but she has the audacity to doubt my dedication to the family. She accused me when Cicero died. She derided me when I delivered my speech at Garma's funeral. She cursed me when Dozle fell. Now, she is surely vilifying me for our father's death.

It was not my fault that Cicero died. Quite the opposite, really. Had she not so fervently opposed me at every turn, my secret police force could have easily thwarted the assassination attempt. Instead, she took every step to limit their power. Somehow, she has deluded herself into thinking Cicero would still be with us if I hadn't decided to remove all opposing elements within Side 3. She is a fool. Had I let the radicals and Federation loyalists remain, they surely would have slain more than Cicero.

Cicero was a man of great intellect and even greater charisma. However, he was a mature adult capable of making his own decisions. He chose to join the two of us--Degwin and me--at the forefront of the revolutionary movement, whereas Dozel, Kycilia, and Garma hovered in indecision for quite some time. True, Dozle took an interest in the Zeon military, but it was the three of us that won over the people of Side 3 (with a bit of help from Zeon Zum Deikun) and laid the groundwork for the Principality of Zeon. And Kycilia had her hand in a few things, but those were mostly errands of relatively minor importance. No, in the beginning, the three of us stood at the forefront of Zeon.

His death was a setback. Garma's was a tragedy.

So young and so full of life he was! We all took every precaution to ensure his well being. I assigned extra personnel to shadow and protect him. Kycilia dispatched her coveted Midnight Fenrir to assist him on many a mission. We all pulled strings to quickly elevate through the ranks so as to keep him off the front lines. Despite all of that, none of us could ever curb Garma's thrill-seeking ways, which translated to a penchant for trying to be a hero and surmount the greatest of obstacles on the battlefield. He was a Zabi and yet he wasn't. He didn't have Dozle's bloodlust, Cicero's paranoia, Kycilia's apathy, or my philosophy. He was something so strange, so foreign; I am amazed he was even my half-brother.

I would not let his demise—so sudden and so unnecessary—become another in a long line of terrible happenings to befall my family. Garma's death would not be in vain. He would become the rallying cry of Zeon that would carry us onward to our final victor over the Federation.

Or so I had planned. It seems Kycilia's meddling prevented a transport of mobile suits from reaching one Lieutenant Ramba Ral, the man Dozle had entrusted with the task of avenging Garma. For whatever reason, perhaps to keep Ral from discovering some Newtype experiment or special project of hers, Kycilia saw to it that those machines never reached Ral, instead going to one of her elite units, the Black Tri-Stars, so that they might better defend her mining operations. There is little doubt in my mind that Ral could have bested the _White Base_ with those machines (if Dozle's praise of Ral is not exaggerated). Had the _White Base_ not been at Odessa, no one would have prevented the nuclear warhead from annihilating the Federation's forces. Ergo, Garma would have been avenged and the Federation's success at Odessa would ring hollow.

Oh, what could have been if not for her. With Odessa in Federal hands and our ground forces panicking, everything began to slowly decay. The attack on Jaburo failed. The Earth slowly fell back into Federation hands. The Federation struck back in space, killing Dozle in the process.

Yes, that is something else for which I am blamed. She assumes that if I had dispatched a score of mobile suits instead of the Big Zam, Dozle might not have sacrificed himself to ensure escape of what remained of Solomon's forces. How naïve she is. He had a knack for turning frontlines inspections into skirmishes with the Federation. Fighting was in his blood. He also loved his men dearly. It wouldn't have mattered if it had been a Zaku or the Big Zam. Dozle would stand and die.

It's better this way. Dozle did not die in vain. The refugees from Solomon have strengthened A Baoa Que's defenses. So have the mobile suits Kycilia would have had me send to Solomon. Perhaps most importantly, his demise finally convinced that old fool to let me use the Solar Ray. That will surely end this accursed war.

Once the superior race has been freed of the shackles placed by the inferiors, Man will experience Eden. Then I shall reign upon the throne of Zeon and all will be well. Father compared me to Hitler for having such ambitions. I would rather think of myself as an Alexander the Great, one who waged war as a necessary evil so that the world may be united. If the world is united under one banner (or rather, one that is not as outmoded as the Federation), people will be able to move past this endless cycle of bloodshed.

I have seen what happens when the power is shared. The Federation is slow and stupid. Even Zeon, as it is now, suffers from internal conflict. Kycilia's backstabbing irks me to no end and my father's sympathy was severely misplaced. Garma's death broke him. He simply didn't act until now. He was a traitor to the Zeon cause, something so many of my fellow colonists have bled, striven, and died for. I will not forsake them. Is it not for the best that one should rule? My father thought not yet he has grown old and useless, just like the Federation.

All things that stand in the way of Man's betterment must be effaced. I know the dark things that lurk in Man's heart very well, for I have seen them firsthand. I know the infirmities of the human being. Someone must rein those things in or stamp them out. If that calls for millions sacrificed and a lone man ascending a level of absolute power so that he may ensure the continued prosperity of humanity, then so be it.


End file.
